


43. Fun in the Kitchen

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [43]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-03
Updated: 2008-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica





	43. Fun in the Kitchen

_**Ryan Kwanten & Sam Worthington: Fun in the Kitchen**_  
[currentish; took place [the day after Tom left](http://www.journalfen.net/users/sam_worthington/5884.html)]  
[ **warning:** inappropriate use of food]

 

It was a brief text, to the point: _on my way_. And Ryan has been on the edge ever since. It felt unfamiliar, being nude all day, and it was difficult not to get turned on. If Ryan'd had permission to wank, he would have -- at least twice. As it is, he is so ready for Sam to come home, every nerve in his body lit up in anticipation as he kneels on the hardwood floor of the living room, facing the front door. Jumping at the sound of every car that passes by.

  
Very little distracts Sam from work. Very little. Everyone who's ever worked with him talks about his intensity, his determination, his single-mindedness. Well, he's probably shot that belief all to hell today, caught day-dreaming half a dozen times. He's apologized to both directors and his castmates but mostly they've laughed it off, his focus the rest of the time buying him some leeway this one. But finally it's time to head home and he scoops up his messenger bag, making sure he has the items he's been stockpiling and the one he added at lunch, and texts Ryan on the way to the car, breaking all records in making his way home. Heart pounding in his chest, his cock already so hard he can barely breathe, much less move, fuck, he unlocks the front door and lets himself inside, any breath he did have left disappearing completely at the sight of Ryan kneeling naked right there in front of him.

It takes everything Ryan has to hold his position when the door swings open. He's just so damn excited, biting back a huge smile, locking his hands tightly together behind his back. He keeps his gaze cast down -- partly because he figures it's proper, and partly because he knows if he looks at Sam he'll just lose it and blow the whole 'serious boy' deal. Half-hard for hours, his cock now swells to fullness without a touch.

"You look incredible," Sam says softly, setting his bag down on the coffee table and reaching into it for the simple black leather collar with O rings he'd had Citadel courier to him on set. "My boy." He steps in front of Ryan, hard and aching, amused to see they're both in the same state. "Look at me," he orders. "I want to know you want this," he says, holding up the collar.

Ryan lifts his head and his eyes widen, taking in the details. He tries to speak, but has to clear his throat and lick his lips before trying again. "Yes, Sir," he says quietly. The enormity of it all strikes him like a blow, leaving him solemn and reverent. Everything he's ever wanted most is standing in front of him. "I want your collar, Sir. Please."

Sam nods and unbuckles the collar, refastening it around Ryan's neck, the black against golden skin stealing his breath away. He leans in and kisses Ryan, hard on the mouth, too overwhelmed in this moment for words.

The leather circles Ryan's neck like it was made for him. His eyes slip shut and he kisses Sam back, straining towards his lover. Wanting to swallow him alive, be swallowed, be one.

"Mine," Sam whispers finally, drawing back. "Mine to do whatever I want with. Right?"

Ryan smiles, a soft curving of lips that says he _knows_ he's in trouble, the most delicious kind. "Anything you want," he whispers. "Everything." He meets Sam's eyes and his grin widens in excitement.

"That's a dangerous word," Sam says, smiling as he straightens up and goes back to the bag, a long black silk scarf pulled from it. "One you might end up regretting," he teases.

"I might," Ryan breathes, his eyes on the scarf. Regret is a funny thing, felt most keenly when he wants something. But Ryan trusts that Sam will take care of him. "I know you'll make it up to me," he murmurs. "Eventually."

"Yeah, I will." Sam moves behind Ryan and ties the scarf around his head, making sure his eyes are well-covered. "Can you see anything?"

"No, Sir," Ryan answers, feeling himself settling deeper, his senses narrowed.

"Good." Sam moves back in front of Ryan and slips a finger through one of the O rings, pulling Ryan to his feet. "Up."

Ryan whimpers at the pressure on his throat, standing up. He's hyper-aware of Sam's nearness, his scent, the sound of his breathing.

Sam leads Ryan to the kitchen table, tugging him along by the collar. He stops in front of it, fishing a leather cock ring from his pocket which he snaps tightly around Ryan's cock and balls before pushing him down over the wood. "I want you to hold yourself open. If you let go, you'll be punished and if you come before I give you permission, you'll be punished."

"Yes, Sir." Ryan winces for an instant at the constriction around his balls, but he knows enough to be grateful for it. Pressing his cheek to the table, he reaches back and spreads his ass open, feeling the cool air tickle at his hole. Totally vulnerable.

"Good boy. Stay right there," Sam says, going back for his bag and setting out one item after another on the table in front of Ryan. "There's ten things I've got. Every single one of them is going inside you. One at a time," he clarifies. "If you can identify even half of them, I'll let you come. If you can't, I'll be fucking you with them until you can, and if I have to stop for bed, I'll be fucking you before I leave in the morning and when I get home, each and every night, until you've guessed every single one, and you still won't be allowed to come until you do. Got it?"

Whoa, that's a new one. Ryan swallows hard and nods against the table. "Yes, Sir." His heart is already starting to race, nervousness at competition flooding him.

Sam chuckles. "We'll start with an easy one," he says, reaching for the thick orange carrot above Ryan's head, its tip slimly tapered. It bends as he pushes it against Ryan's hole though, and he slaps Ryan's one hand. "Spread yourself wider, boy. I need your hole open for this."

Jerking at the slap, Ryan gets a better grip on himself and spreads his cheeks wider, stretching his hole open. "Um." He swallows hard, focusing. It's got to be food, he figures. And it's the tapered feeling that tips him off. "Carrot?"

"See, told you it was an easy one," Sam says, fucking the carrot into Ryan a few times before pulling it out. "And you should be able to get this one pretty easily too," the thick end of the largest cucumber he could find pressed to Ryan's hole, forcing him open.

"Fuck." Ryan slams forward against the table, retreating automatically. Put then he pushes back, the smooth cold skin sending ripples up his spine. "Uh, cucumber," he guesses, hoping he's not overestimating.

Sam grins. "Very good." Again fucking Ryan with the cucumber a half dozen times before pulling it from his body. He picks up the next item along with a paring knife. "Now this one needs a little bit of preparation," he says, peeling the thick finger of ginger, "plus you're going to have be careful. Make sure you keep your hole spread for it and don't let go. Ready?"

Ryan presses his forehead to the smooth surface of the table. "Yes, Sir," he says, taking a deep breath, his heart pounding at how fucking _wrong_ this is.

This time Sam doesn't tease, well, anymore than he already has. He pushes the ginger plug in as far as it'll go, the base left flared, and stands back with a small smile, knowing it'll take a few seconds at least for the full effects to be felt.

His brow furrows and Ryan tries to concentrate. The shape is... the carrot, again? Sam wouldn't... Abruptly he shouts, flame spreading through his ass. "Ginger," he gasps before he even thinks about it. He's been figged before; it leaves an impression. "Ginger, Sir, fuck!"

"You sure about that?" Sam says, grinning widely, in absolutely no hurry to remove the plug.

 _Sadistic bastard_. Ryan grits his teeth against the burn and clutches his ass more tightly to make sure his grip doesn't slip. "Yes, Sir," he says, breathing heavily. And he has to laugh a little. "I'm certain."

"Good. That's three," Sam says, gripping the base of the plug and fucking it into Ryan's reddened hole a few times. "Want the next one?" he asks, twisting it deeper.

Ryan says nothing for a moment, soundlessly gaping. Then he nods quickly. "Yes, please." He knows he's going to be feeling the fire even after Sam pulls the ginger out.

"You might regret that," Sam says, picking up the next item - a thick hard Chorizo sausage, almost square in shape. He peels the skin from it, the sausage hard enough to retain its shape, and pushes it, hard, into Ryan, replacing the ginger with one solid thrust.

The shape baffles Ryan, but shit! It burns as much as the ginger! "Is... is it dinner?" he asks, sniffing the air. It smells like meat. Which might explain why it hurts so much... "Sausage? With peppers?" he guesses, wincing, his hole contracting and relaxing around the intrusion.

"Very good," Sam says, nodding. "That's four." Smiling as he finally takes pity, after fucking Ryan with it a few times, and removes the sausage. "Chorizo," he supplies helpfully, picking up the last food item. He presses the blunt end against Ryan's hole, letting him feel just how big it is.

Ryan's eyes fly wide beneath the silk scarf. Oh shit, whatever the fuck that is, there's no way it's going to even _fit_. "Um, uh..." he stammers, rattled. Bigger than an apple, smaller than a cantaloupe... "Ah. Grapefruit?" No that's wrong, he's sure of it; he can't smell citrus. Can't smell anything right now, is the problem.

"Not even close," Sam says, relenting at the last moment and turning it around. "Try again." Pushing the top of the squash against Ryan, harder, until his body gives and the first inch slides in.

Ryan shouts, jerking against the table. But he doesn't let go, keeping his grip on his ass tight. Shit. _Think think think_. Wide at one end, narrow at the other... "Squash," he says, racking his brain for the name. "Acorn."

"Close, but not quite," Sam says, pushing the butternut squash even deeper. "You get a half point for that."

"Fuck fuck fuck," Ryan mutters, even as he starts to move on the squash, his body automatically trying to work it in deeper. It turns out his competitive nature might actually be stronger than his dick; who knew? "Butternut!"

"And there's that other half point," Sam says, tightening up his grip on the base and slowly pushing it deeper, his eyes locked on the way Ryan's hole is stretching so fucking hungrily around it. "You should see yourself. Squash up your ass, pushing back for more..."

Ryan groans, clenching around the squash. It feels good now, the quick flash-burn melting into smooth pressure. "I hope that's not our dinner. You're a dirty fuck, Sir," he breathes, and has to laugh a little -- like he's not swollen full and rubbing slowly against the table.

Sam grins. "You haven't seen anything yet," he says, eyeing the rest of the items on the table as he works the squash in and out of Ryan's hole until he's got it as deep as it'll go. Fucking him slowly but steadily. His own cock rigid and aching, pressed tight against the zipper of his jeans.

Surrendering, Ryan moves with him. He's growing light-headed with lust now, rocking his prick against the table, his arms aching from holding himself open so rigidly.

Fuck. Seeing Ryan just take it, his body opening up, his hips angled to offer himself up for more, makes Sam so fucking hard he can barely breathe. Or think. His plans falling to the wayside for a moment before he straightens and pulls the squash out, groaning at the sight of Ryan's gaping hole. "Let's try something a little smaller," he says, picking up the coke can which he's washed thoroughly, just like everything else. It goes in easily, and Sam pushes it all the way in, watching as Ryan's hole actually closes over it, the can disappearing from sight, his cock throbbing heavily. "So fucking dirty..."

"Shit!" It's smooth, and it's cold, and it's _inside him_. Ryan yelps like a kicked puppy. "Sir!" he begs, real panic leaking in at the edges of his voice for an instant. "Please!"

"Please what?" Sam says, fingers playing around the edge of Ryan's hole before pushing in, against the base of the can.

The pressure against Ryan's prostate is intense, like a lead weight. "It's a s-soda can," he says breathlessly, shocked that Sam's pushing it even further in. Is he completely mad? "Please take it out!"

"You want it out, you can push it out," Sam says, pulling his fingers from Ryan's hole and stroking the tips over the back of Ryan's balls and down the length of his ringed cock.

Ryan jerks at that teasing caress, his fingers nearly slipping on his ass. He bites down on his lip and pushes, scared that it won't work, hoping Sam's right. He feels his hole stretching, and then the can pops out, as easily as it went in. Ryan gasps, breathing hard, his head swimming.

"See?" Sam murmurs, setting the can aside as he leans in and swipes his tongue over Ryan's hole. "There was nothing to worry about."

Ryan whines wordlessly, his mind a muddle of fear and lust and forbidden exhilaration. "Sir," he whispers, and swallows hard. "God, you're making me crazy."

"I know, but feel this," Sam says, lifting Ryan's right hand from his cheek and pressing it against his jeans, against the hard ridge of his erection. "That's what you're doing to me."

Now Ryan moans, automatically starting to stroke Sam through denim, caressing the length of him, the width. "Sir," he whispers, rubbing the heel of his hand against Sam's cock. "Your dirty boy."

"Yeah. Mine," Sam agrees, licking his lips, his eyes closing, his cock responding eagerly to Ryan's touch. "Fuck." It takes everything he's got to stop Ryan and move his hand back to his cheek. "Four more to go. You ready for the next one?"

"Yes, Sir." Ryan presses his forehead to the table, taking a deep breath. Ignoring the way his cock throbs in its ring, insistent.

"You've already guessed half so you know I'm gonna let you come at some point," Sam says, picking up the beer bottle. "But let's make it more interesting. Guess the rest and _I'll_ come home prepped tomorrow night, let you fuck me."

Ryan groans. The idea of Sam... "You'll prep at work?" he asks breathlessly, picturing it, Sam stealing moments alone in his trailer. "I'll guess them."

"Good boy," Sam says, grinning, the base of the beer bottle pressed to Ryan's hole, wriggled from side to side to get it in, Sam's breath catching hard at the sight, at the sheer wrongness of it.

"Oh Jesus." Ryan gasps as his hole stretches, opens for something smooth and cold. Ohh, he knows this one, though it's been a while. "Bottle," he says, flexing around it gently, experimentally. Fuck, he loves Sam. "Beer bottle."

"You're good at this," Sam murmurs, eyes twinkling. "Recognized that one right off the bat." Pushing it deeper until Ryan's hole starts closing around the neck and then he pulls it back out, and pushes in again, slowly, rubbing his own hand over his cock, the hard ridge in his jeans. "Is that because you've been fucked with one before?"

God, that's agonizing -- slow drag of sensation, sparking shivers up Ryan's spine. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, his body flushing. He can't help but rock his hips, working the bottle in and out. Embarrassed and crazy aroused.

"Yeah?" Fuck. Sam unzips his jeans, freeing his cock and stroking it roughly as he fucks Ryan a little harder with the bottle. "What's the weirdest thing you've ever been fucked with?"

That one's easy. "A golf club," Ryan answers, his mind still firmly on the sound of that zipper being pulled down. He knows Sam is touching himself. It makes him ache even more.

That just makes Sam harder, his cock leaking against his palm. He pulls the beer bottle out and replaces it with the next object - a heavy black Maglite - pushed in slowly but firmly, the barrel rigid and far longer than the average dildo. "Dirty slut," he whispers. "I bet you loved that, didn't you?"

Ryan whimpers, his mind flying in a dozen different directions. "Yes," he admits, "it was my prize for winning the round." His penalty for beating his lover at golf, more like, but Ryan hadn't seen it that way. He frantically tries to focus on whatever the hell that _thing_ is that's invading his ass. Cold. Heavy. He shudders. "Full... full beer bottle?"

Sam's cock throbs in his hand at the story, at the images it puts in his head. "Nope." He gives a soft laugh, pushing it still deeper, until Ryan has every last inch of it, only the head left outside his body. "Try again. I'll give you two more guesses." Twisting the flashlight inside him.

"Christ!" Ryan yelps, his fingers digging into his ass cheeks. He quickly runs his mind through the gamut of Things He's Been Fucked With, trying to figure it out. The thing is _long_ in addition to being wide, damn, and it makes it so hard to think. "Um. Uh... flashlight!" He's almost sure of it.

"Very good." Sam pulls back on the head and fucks Ryan with it a few more times, his free hand dropping from his cock, fingers teasing over the swollen length of Ryan's, base to tip and back again before closing around his balls and squeezing.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" The words spill out on a near sob, and Ryan bucks back against Sam. His self-control is rapidly fraying: if it weren't for the cock ring, he would have come long ago. "Please, Sir, please."

"Not yet. You have two more to go," Sam says casually, squeezing a little tighter and thrusting the flashlight into Ryan's hole, fast and hard, a half dozen times.

Ryan's whole body is taut now, every muscle straining as he struggles to hold himself open. His breath thunders in his chest and he whimpers, sparks rocking through him, when Sam brutally rakes over his prostate.

Sam pulls out the flashlight, dropping it on the table in front of Ryan and picks up the next item. A one litre plastic Coke bottle, full and cold, its base wider than the Maglite. He pushes it in hard, forcing it past any resistance, Ryan's balls still gripped in his one hand.

The shout this time is wordless, louder than the others. Ryan doesn't even remember the point of the game anymore, he's so wrapped up in sensation, in the needs of his body. And this one _hurts_ , shocking him with cold and pain.

"How's that feel, boy?" Sam asks, pulling the bottle back out to the base before pushing it back in. "You like that?" Finally releasing Ryan's balls in favour of stroking his own dripping cock again.

Ryan whines, blinking back tears behind the scarf. "Ye-- yes," he gasps, but he's not even sure. He's just so conditioned to saying _yes_ to Sam. "Please," he manages, "please, I don't know."

Sam doesn't like the sound of that. Both hands still and he places one on the small of Ryan's back, rubbing in circles as he leans in close, body partially covering his boy's. Presses soft kisses to the nape of his neck. "Do you want me to stop?"

 _No._ "Yes." The answer slips out before Ryan can stop it. He's so confused right now he's losing his grip on the situation, but he knows that safewording equals quitting. He is not a quitter.

Sam nods, brushing his lips across the back of Ryan's neck. "Okay. Stay right there," he orders, straightening up and easing the bottle from Ryan's hole. He grabs the black plastic garbage bag he'd put on the table earlier and dumps the items into it, knotting it tightly closed. "You can let go," he says softly, touching Ryan's hand before removing the blindfold and unsnapping the cock ring.

Abruptly Ryan comes in a rush, in sheer relief at having the ring off his cock. But there's no pleasure in it; it's nothing but release. Shaky, he splays his hands on the table and pushes himself upright. He holds there, wincing against tears, his shoulders hunched in shame.

"Come here," Sam says, tugging Ryan into his arms and against his chest. Just holding him close. It's not the end he would have had for the scene but it's not the end of the world either. He knows Ryan, knows what he can take, and if this was too much, it was too much. Plain and simple.

Ryan moves into the embrace, but for perhaps the first time ever, he doesn't hug Sam back. He's too wrapped up in his own misery now. Furious with himself. Unable to blink back the tears standing in his eyes, but unable to acknowledge them either. "I'm sorry," he whispers, the words barely voiced.

"Don't be," Sam says softly, shaking his head. "I'm not upset," he adds, making sure Ryan knows that. "I trust you to know how much you can take, and I'd rather stop than have you really hurt."

Now Ryan shuts his eyes, and a tear tracks down his cheek. He prides himself on being able to take pretty much anything. Wimping out on a game of Let's Stick Things Up Ryan's Ass is ridiculously embarrassing; it wasn't even a beating. It was just a fuck.

"Hey." Sam pulls Ryan in even tighter, kissing the side of his throat, just above his collar. "It's okay. It really is. I don't want you beating yourself up over this."

"Uh-huh." Ryan nods stiffly. _Too late_. "I know."

Sam frowns, wondering if he should have forced Ryan to safeword. If that would have made things any better. If _he's_ fucked up by assuming Ryan meant it when he said he wanted Sam to stop. Fuck if he knows though and he's certainly not going to ask. Not now anyway. "Let's order in a pizza," he murmurs, kissing Ryan's throat again. "You can lie on top of me and we'll watch a movie."

"Okay." Ryan lifts a hand to brush his fingers over the collar, brand new and only just given. What a way to fucking un-earn it. "May I get dressed?"

Sam would rather Ryan didn't but he understands why he wants to. He nods. "Bottoms only though."

"Okay." Ryan pulls out of Sam's embrace, ignoring the way he instantly starts to shiver. He heads down the hall and cleans himself up a bit, then slides into soft cotton pajama bottoms. Before he returns to Sam though he stops and takes a few cleansing breaths, glaring at himself in the mirror.

Sam cleans up, putting his bag away and dumping the bag of goodies in the back closet where he can take care of them later. He calls for their pizza and stretches out on the couch, beer in hand, flicking through the channels until Ryan gets back.

One look at his lover and Ryan can't stay away anymore, even as angry as he is. He lies down on the couch and puts his head in Sam's lap, but it immediately reminds him what a terrible boy he is. "You still need to come."

"I don't _need_ to," Sam says with a smile, sliding his fingers through Ryan's hair. "But I wouldn't say no to your mouth."

Without another word Ryan slips down to his knees. This is better; it feels right. He unzips Sam's jeans and leans close, sucking his lover in, letting him fill his mouth.

"Oh fuck," Sam groans, his head going back for a moment. He slides one hand into Ryan's hair, fingers rubbing over his scalp as he savours the feel, the wet heat of his boy's mouth. "Yeah, that's it," he murmurs, opening his eyes again and looking down at Ryan, his chest tight with emotion, with wanting to put things right and hoping this will do it.

Slowly Ryan sucks, taking his time and making sure he doesn't miss a spot. The flavor is familiar and exotic at once, and the act centers him. It gradually brings him out of his self-directed anger and takes him back to a place he's comfortable: on his knees, making his lover feel good.

Sam curses softly under his breath, hand tightening in Ryan's hair as his arousal grows, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He pushes a little deeper, working his cock further into Ryan's throat, groaning at just how good it feels. How fucking incredible.

Ryan slips his hand into Sam's jeans and cradles his balls. He pulls off and just dabs his tongue at the head of Sam's cock, looking up to meet his lover's eyes. "Will you come on my face?"

Breath hitching sharply, Sam nods. How the fuck could he say no to that?

Smiling slightly, Ryan takes Sam in again, swallowing him as deep as he can. He sucks and licks, tugging at Sam's balls, urging him on.

Sam groans. "Fuck." His head going back again, his cock throbbing, his balls tightening, pleasure flushing through him. "Close," he warns, suddenly pushing at Ryan's shoulder, his orgasm slamming through him just as Ryan lifts off, spurt after spurt spattering his skin.

The drops seem to sear into Ryan's flesh, burning him, branding him. He whimpers softly and decides the hell with it, rubbing his messy cheek against Sam's cock. Worshiping his lover with his actions.

"Good boy," Sam breathes, sliding his hand to the back of Ryan's neck, fingers stroking the edge of his collar. "You make me so happy," he whispers.

The words go a long way towards healing the raw wound Ryan still feels. "Made myself pretty miserable tonight," he whispers, finally settled enough to be able to talk about it.

Sam nods. "What do you think happened?" he asks, continuing to touch Ryan, run his fingers over that band of leather around his neck.

"I don't know. Don't remember," Ryan murmurs, smearing some of the come off his face with his fingers. "I was pretty out of it. Got overwhelmed."

"Is there anything I could have done, do you think, to help with that?" Sam asks, handing Ryan a tissue. "Was the whole scene too much?"

"No, it was good, it was fun," Ryan assures him, sitting back and cleaning off his face. "I just... maybe we shouldn't go for ten next time." He gives his lover a weak smile.

"Eight then maybe?" Sam says, eyes sparkling.

Ryan huffs a laugh. "Yeah. Eight," he says, linking his fingers with Sam's.

"Come on up here," Sam says, tugging on their joined hands, wanting Ryan closer.

Getting to his feet, Ryan folds his leg under himself and sits down next to Sam, cuddling up to his side. "I love you," he breathes, needing to say it.

"I love you too," Sam says, pressing their lips together, the kiss soft but firm. "So much."  



End file.
